A Knight's Vengeance (16 page)

Did the light playing over his face trick her, or did his eyes spark with mirth?

"I feel a draught at my ankles." She gave her skirts a brisk shake. "The sleeves do not cover my arms. You know as well as I that only a strumpet would bare this much flesh for all to see.
'Tis appalling."

"I find the bliaut most fetching."

Heat scalded Elizabeth's cheeks. The rogue tried to appease her with flattery. Yet she could not suppress the thrill that coursed through her, right down to her toes.

Shame crushed the pleasure. She should not savor the honeyed words of her father's sworn enemy. "If you like this gown," she bit out, "'tis all the more reason for me to hate it."

His smile faded.
"Milady."
Warning hummed in his voice.

She ignored an inner prick of caution and welcomed a rush of scorn. "You insisted before on courtesy and honor, yet you dishonor me with this gown
. '
Tis clear you do not respect me. I shall never respect you, you despicable rogue!"

His face darkened with a lethal scowl. He straightened away from the table. "Beware. I may exact an immediate apology from your lips."

Elizabeth thrust up her chin, even though her insides had turned as soft as pudding. She should not have insulted him, and let her pride and embarrassment overrule her common sense.

Tiny shivers started in her belly. De Lanceau was lord and master of Branton Keep. As his hostage, she had no rights or privileges. Naught stopped him from beating her if he so desired. He could throw her on the rack, have her tortured with hot irons, or lock her in a small, lightless cell without food or water for days.

He could rape her here in this room.

No one would stop him.

He took a step toward her. His boots creaked.

Elizabeth's pulse lurched.

"So, you dislike my choice of garments." The dangerous silk of his voice wrapped around her, threatened to ensnare her, and she fought the urge to step away.

Her nervous gaze dropped to his jerkin, the color of fine Bordeaux. She doubted even her father could afford such magnificent material that looked as soft to the touch as lamb's wool. "You picked this gown on purpose. You intended to humiliate me."

His heel scraped on the floor as he took another step forward. "Would you prefer to go without clothing?"

"Of course not."
She did not like his nearness, but she also would not show cowardice and retreat.

"You should be satisfied with what I have given you.
Grateful, even."

"Grateful'?"

He nodded. His hair, curving past the edge of his collar, gleamed like polished oak. "When I came to Branton, I found it in disrepair
. '
Twill
take
months to bring it to the standard to which a spoiled lady, like you, is accustomed."

Chills rippled through her.

"Vast structural repairs must be done or this keep will crumble into a heap of stones and mortar. I need a full retainer of servants, which I do not have. There are far too many tasks for a few hands, yet I still provided you and your lady-in-waiting with a warm bed, clean clothing, food and drink." His lip drew back from his teeth. "I even paid a healer with my own coin, little that I have, to tend your wounds."

"W-Why are you telling me this?"

Promise smoldered in his gaze. Promise
of.
. . what?

He smiled, but warmth did not touch his eyes. "Mayhap I should have sent you to the dungeon instead
. '
Tis a foul place, the perfect home for spiders, rats, and
vermin."
His tongue curled around the word and Elizabeth shuddered.
"'Tis damp and cold even in the heat of summer.
Unlike this chamber, which you hold in such contempt."

De Lanceau took one last step and halted in front of her. His gaze raked up the front of her bliaut. "Aye, you have much to be grateful for. Most of all, that I have not unleashed my fury and sought your body to appease me."

Elizabeth gasped. She stumbled back, but his hand caught her left wrist and held her firm. She struggled, but he pulled her toward him until her breasts brushed his jerkin. Fabric whispered where their bodies touched.

He smelled of bitter, earthy ale.
Of man.

Trembling, she stared up at the seductive fullness of his lips.
"Milord."

"You think to apologize?" His breath fanned against her forehead.
"Too late, milady.
You have taxed my restraint once too often with your waspish tongue."

With a strangled cry, Elizabeth broke free of his grip. She whirled and bolted toward the trestle table.

De Lanceau's laughter chased her. Pace by pace, he stalked her down the table. She scooted ahead of him, her bottom pressed against the table's edge. Her hands skidded on the dusty surface. She tried to dart past him, but he thwarted her escape.

Her fingertips scraped against stone, and, with a horrified jolt, she realized she was against the far wall.

Trapped.

A wicked smirk on his lips, de Lanceau towered over her. He crowded her back into the corner.

His palms slammed on the wall either side of her head.

"Tell me," he murmured against her hair. "Are your only assets the lands you bring to marriage, damsel? Or, are there other reasons for Sedgewick to covet you as his betrothed?"

"I do not know what you mean." She flattened back against the cold stone, one hip squeezed against the end of the table.

"You will."

"Please, let me go."

His fingers tangled into her hair. "You should not have provoked me. Any woman with any sense would have realized I am not a kind or patient man."

His thumb tilted up her chin.

He meant to kiss her.

Elizabeth jerked her face away. With gentle but firm movements, he twisted her hair around his hand until she had no choice but to look at him. "Nay," she choked. "N—"

His mouth crushed down over hers.

The kiss tasted of anger. His lips branded hers with the essence of ale. His tongue lashed. In all her years, no man had ever kissed her.

No one had dared.

She shrieked and clawed and scratched at his jerkin. The fabric softened her blows. Grinding his hips against hers, he pinned her flush against the wall. Where they touched, the heat of his body scorched.

Elizabeth squeezed her lashes shut. His scent enveloped her, and her head reeled. Somehow she must endure this torture. She must maintain a prudent detachment until he lost interest or she wriggled free. With a strangled sob, she let her hands fall to her sides.

She sensed tension warring within him, the desire to crush her spirit with his strength. Yet he did not. His kisses slowed, gentled, and as his tongue flicked into the corner of her mouth, she gasped. The skin across her chest tingled, a similar sensation to when he had kissed her hand in the market.

An unfamiliar ache blossomed inside her.

He nibbled her bottom lip.
Taunted.
Coaxed.
Dared her, with the glide of his mouth and tongue, to meet his sensual challenge.

A muzzy haze clouded her mind and in her mind, she wept in self-reproach. He knew of'the tremors running through her body.

Tremors not due to fear.

She moaned. Her lips parted. Despite the warning shrilling inside her, she began to kiss him back.

He growled. The pleasured sound stirred a primitive hunger. Molten heat flooded through her like sunlit water surging across glistening sand, slowing to a swirling eddy, and then returning a moment later on another cresting tide. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she sighed.

He released her hair. His fingers caressed her neck, and then slipped down her shoulder blade.

His palm brushed her breast.

She stiffened. Shock slashed through the haze of wondrous sensation, then indignation. De Lanceau meant to do more than kiss her.

As he had no doubt planned, she had melted under his onslaught like a lusty tavern wench. He could not conquer her will, so he would subdue her body instead.

This man was her sworn enemy.

She betrayed her father by wanting de Lanceau's touch.

Resentment drowned her last glimmerings of pleasure.

De Lanceau hesitated. He lifted his lips from hers and stared down into her face, his heavy-lidded gaze intense.

Protecting her bruised arm, she braced her palm against his chest and shoved with all her might. She kicked his shins and scratched with her nails. He swore, yelped, and she broke free.

Elizabeth darted behind the bed. "You
rogue!"
With the back of her wrist, she scrubbed her mouth, desperate to erase the taste and feel of him.

"I did not hear you protesting a moment ago." He dragged a hand through his mussed hair and glared at her.

"You will pay for your boldness. My father will see you punished."

De Lanceau's eyes glinted like steel. "Consider what happened fair warning, damsel. Next time, you will not escape unscathed."

Geoffrey strode into the hall, his clipped strides shattering the near silence.

Dominic glanced up from where he sat by the hearth.
"The first adventure, milord?"

With a savage roar, Geoffrey slammed his fist down on a trestle table. Stoneware mugs bounced into the air with a dissonant
clink.
The scullery maids setting out bread for the evening meal shrieked and glanced at one another. He scowled in their direction, and, after frantic curtsies, they disappeared into the stairwell.

Aware of Dominic's grin, refusing to acknowledge it, Geoffrey grabbed a mug, sloshed in some ale, and downed it in one gulp. The drink cooled his burning throat.